


Roomies

by tjmystic



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Gen, er - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 02:50:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/921129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tjmystic/pseuds/tjmystic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU:  med student Belle French decides to be resident Doctor Gold's roommate, not realizing how much that choice will come to affect her</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roomies

The Night Job [Roomies, part 4]  
Rating: PG (for this part - trust me, the rating escalates very quickly)

Summary: Well, here’s the long awaited AU fic of ER, my first ever television obsession. I’m gonna go ahead and forewarn you that, unlike all my other series, this one will be presented out of order. For example, we’re starting off with part 4. I hope it’ll add to the mystery of the story, which I find is difficult to do with medical stories (not that that’s kept andachippedcup from succeeding at it). I won’t give anything else away other than to note that, obviously, this story takes place in the ER of a hospital, specifically Storybrooke General, were Belle is a second year intern here, and Gold (due to some difficulties that will be explained later on) is, too. Should you want more backstory, though, I have everything before part 1 of this verse typed up and ready to post. 

Alright, that should do it :D Hope you guys enjoy!

 

Belle shivered as she walked out into the ambulance bay, surrounded by freezing Maine snow and blaring sirens. Her hands clutched a hot cup of tea, anything to warm her up and keep her awake.

She shouldn’t have there this late to begin with. Her shift only went till 9, and here she’d stayed till midnight. Mrs. Clark had needed help, though, and she was the only one willing to lend an ear. No matter what she said, or how many tests she ran, the older woman was convinced that she had a fatal tumor above her breast bone. There wasn’t a bump to be seen, of course, but Mrs. Clark swore she could feel one. If not for her extensive medical records in the woman’s file – as well as the fact that Mary-Margaret warned her herself that she came in with complaints like this all the time – she probably would’ve left her, too. But those were warning signs enough to Belle that, while not physically, this woman was sick. Maybe she was a hypochondriac, maybe she had some form of anxiety disorder – Belle didn’t know. What she did know, though, was that her brief stint in psychiatric rotation wasn’t good enough to solve Mrs. Clark’s problems, and that she needed proper care before she hurt herself or worried to death.

She huffed, her breath coming out in clouds before her face, and drew her coat closer. Mrs. Clark was hardly the reason she’d been waiting so long, really, and even if she had been, Belle couldn’t blame her. She was just a scared, confused woman who didn’t know what was wrong with her and couldn’t convince anyone to pay attention – it was maddening. Not as maddening, however, as the fact that psych, of all people, could be bothered to see to her, either. Three hours she’d waited in treatment, just shuffling around Mrs. Clark and praying that someone would come down soon. 

But not a single psychologist, analyst, nor nurse had shown up. Had it not been for David’s insistence, she’d probably be waiting around for them still.

At the end of the street, Belle stopped and shook off the snow that had covered her shoulders, and, after a moment of deliberating, turned left instead of right. 

More than anything, she wished that her new roommate had been there to help her. Adam Gold was a lot of things, and not many of them positive, but he would’ve gotten someone for Mrs. Clark. He could’ve talked them into coming down and had her out of there in fifteen minutes flat. Or else he would’ve yelled at them until they gave in and did whatever he wanted – when her new roommate ran out of tricks with words, he resorted to shouting, and it had been her experience that he got his way no matter which method he used. And he would’ve had plenty to shout about, considering that she’d been his patient to start with. 

All of that would’ve required him actually being at the hospital, though, which, unfortunately, he was not. 

About halfway through the initial work-up of Mrs. Clark’s chart, Gold had developed an awful, hacking cough that rivaled even the patient next-door’s bronchitis rattling. Belle had been two seconds away from telling him to just go home and wait for her there, but, thankfully, he’d come to that conclusion himself and left without telling anyone. It would’ve been a relief if not for the fact that she was worried about him and he wouldn’t answer his phone. She’d called him five times while she was waiting, five times during which Mrs. Clark had gotten so upset that she started crying and begging them not to let her husband know she was dying, but he hadn’t answered one of them. He’d texted her something unintelligible at one point, though the only thing she got from it was that he wasn’t in any immediate trouble but felt bad enough not to answer his mobile.

Which was why she was walking the extra block to Rumple’s Pub for a loaf of Irish soda bread, even though she was still stressed about their patient and two seconds away from just going back there and dragging someone down from psych herself. She was worried about him, was allowed to be as his roommate, and even if it was almost a thirty minute walk out of her way, the least she could do was get him a treat. She just hoped the bastard would actually appreciate it, or at the very least pretend that it had magically popped up in their kitchen while he wasn’t looking. She didn’t know what she’d do if he had another fit about not wanting her pity. 

The moment she turned the corner, though, any thought of pity for the man flew out the window. 

It took her a while, a long while, to make sense of what she was seeing. A crowd was gathered around the door, some of them holding instruments and others wide-eyed with awe. All of them were wearing similar T-shirts, though, embossed with the face of a man with gold skin and wavy hair. And that face, reflected back at her from everyone’s chests – even one very brave girl’s bra – wasn’t hard to recognize at all, especially when a carbon copy of it turned in her direction and laughed. 

After all, she saw the older version of it every day she went in to work. 

Belle had been angry before. She was a human being, after all, and anger was a human emotion.

But seeing her roommate – her partner – hobbling drunkenly out of the bar with a guitar slung over his shoulder… well, that was the only time she could ever remember being furious. 

A gust of snowy air blew up her coat, but she couldn’t care less, even surrounded by the horde of his scantily clad groupies.

“Gold!” she shouted. 

He didn’t even turn around. He just stood there, smiling, without a care in the world. Like he hadn’t left her alone at the hospital without anyone to help her. Like he hadn’t left a terrified woman to her own devices. 

“Adam Gold, I’m talking to you!” 

He spun around finally, his feet sliding underneath him in his drunkenness. Like with her, it took him a few seconds to recognize her face, and those few seconds were enough to make her blood boil. He had the gall to smile at her.

“French, what’re you doin’ here?” he slurred, accent thicker than she’d ever heard. 

She crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing enough that she almost couldn’t see him through the snow. 

“Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing,” she sneered. 

He still grinned, but she saw some of it start to slip away. She didn’t know what else to say to him, didn’t know what she could say to him, but before she could do more than open her mouth, he turned back around to his crowd and waved them off. 

“Nother time, dearies,” he called, hushing their mingled cries of protest. “Got to get back to ma day job.”

Belle raised her hand, though God knew what she was planning on doing with it. Gold apparently had a plan, though, since he took it in his and dragged her to the end of the square where no one could hear them. He was either more sober than she’d given him credit for, or the drunkenness didn’t affect his skills of manipulation. 

“Make it quick, dearie,” he said. “My next gig’s not for a few more minutes.”

Her jaw dropped, which he obviously took to mean she was impressed. He obviously wasn’t looking at her clenched fists. 

“Yeah, just came in for a pint but some o’ the college kids recognized me,” he smirked.

“You… you left work to get a drink?” she stammered. 

He shrugged. “You had things covered perfectly fine when I left.” 

“I’m not worried about me, Adam,” she said. “You left your job. You left Mrs. Clark all alone.”

Gold crossed his arms best he could without staggering. “Obviously not, dearie, if she was with you. You’re far more capable than I am.” 

“Don’t you dare give me that,” she muttered. “I’m a second year. You’ve been at this since your twenties. Probably as long as you’ve been running away to get hammered, right?” 

His lip twitched, every bit as dangerous as a wild animal baring its fangs. Belle wasn’t scared – she was pissed. 

“The headache and the cough went away as soon as I left work, so I came here,” he said softly. “No harm, no foul.”

“‘No harm, no foul’?” she repeated. “You left her to play at some stupid gig!” 

“I didnae want to deal with it, alright –”

“Screw what you didn’t want to deal with, and screw you!” she yelled. “People aren’t your day job!”

He froze. Had she not been so angry, she might have been surprised – Adam never backed down from anyone, and never, ever her.

He shook himself and sneered, a scoffing laugh pushing out with his breath. It didn’t make her ignore the fact that he wouldn’t meet her eyes, though.

“Sorry to tell you this, dearie, but I’m a rather difficult person,” he muttered. “That’s just how I am.”

She jammed her finger into his chest, amazed when he actually backed away from her.

“Bloody right you’re difficult,” she snapped. “You worry more about getting people to be afraid of you than you do trying to be a good doctor, and then you tear yourself up about it and make everything worse. Don’t think I don’t know that’s why you drink, I’ve seen the bottles, I’ve seen the way you look at your reflection.” 

His head snapped up at that at least. His skin was flushed and his hair was blown everywhere, and still he managed to look calm and collected. That he still tried to act like he didn’t care made her resolve crumble all the quicker. 

“Now, that woman was lonely, and scared, and all she needed was for you was to hold her hand until psych came down. Yeah, it would’ve taken awhile, but that’s your job, Adam. Actually, thanks to you, she’s still sitting there waiting for them.”

His eyebrows creased, an odd glint reflecting behind the drunken haze in his eyes. If she could come up with a reason why, she might go so far as to say he looked scared. 

“They haven’t shown up yet?” he hissed. 

She laughed humorlessly. “No, they haven’t. She’s still there crying her eyes out in treatment because she thinks she’s dying. And you’re out here partying.” 

She tugged him closer, her fingers tightening on his collar, and, for a moment, the weird expression in his eyes disappeared. 

“You are one of the best, kindest, most caring doctors at that hospital,” she snapped, her breath mingling with the sleet between their faces. “Stop being so lazy and stupid and actually try showing it for a change.” 

He curled his lip at her, and, bizarrely, she realized she could smell his breath. 

“Well, we can’t all be as perfect as your fiancé, dearie.”

Her hand whipped out too quickly for even her to prepare for. He was drunk enough that he stumbled at the impact, his head slinging back until his neck popped and his arms flailing for the wall behind him. If it weren’t for her glove, she was sure her palm would’ve burned red. 

“Don’t you dare talk about Michael that way,” she warned. “He’s a good man. He’s doing what he thinks is right. It’s more than you can say.” 

Gold opened his mouth, but Belle had had enough of it. Without another word, without even a parting glance at his bewildered face, she turned on her heel and marched back the way she came. She didn’t even bother to call him a taxi.

Let him stumble in on his own tonight – he wasn’t her problem anymore.

It shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did. And certainly not more than the insult he’d aimed at her fiancé. 

Her shoulders shook as she rounded the corner, but she refused to let her tears fall until she was out of his sight. For once, she sincerely regretted making the choice to live with the hospital’s resident monster.


End file.
